In flagrante delicto
by NiggleNilla
Summary: After committing a slip in one of his bloody errands, Hachimenroppi must clean the smudge in his job reputation in order to get his life back in order. Tsuppi, rated M for blood and murder.


The blade sliced the skin in a beautiful, swift movement; piercing the skin open after it was carelessly pulled out. Red eyes shimmered as the blood oozed from the fresh injury, a twisted, pleasured expression flooding a pale face free of any color. As the crimson liquid continued dripping and staining a yellow short in an almost cascading effect, the vermillion-eyed man twisted in his heels before he skipped down the alley.

He thoroughly enjoyed causing pain and death to others. To humans, specially. It was his passion, the burning in his heart that made him continue to keep walking in this miserable life. It was his job, what was maintaining him. And he loved every second of it. He was so lost in his little moment of euphoria, his senses were numbed from feeling the scared, prying eyes of an innocent, blond stand-byer.

Hachimenroppi left the teenage, yellow scarf-wearing punk to die in that disgusting place, where he really belonged. Such filthy, irrational being didn't deserve to breathe the same air as he did. He was superior; smart, clever and cunning. Still, as he strolled down the pathway to his "humble" apartment, his only living space, Hachi couldn't help but stop in his tracks and observe the people that hurriedly passed him, or the ones that merely took their time to get to their destinations. Filth. Filthy, filthy, filthy!

If he could kill all of them he would, he most definitely would. He'd use his trusty, mid-lock knife and slice their throats open and laugh and laugh and laugh, as the blood freely escaped the open wound; like a waterfall. A beautiful, mesmerizing red waterfall. But he couldn't, and why? Because they weren't worth his time.

They never were, they never will. He only killed the ones he does for two, humanly simple reasons: business and pleasure.

A sudden shriek was enough the break Hachi's wall of thought through and make his eyes snap wide. A little girl just screamed to the top of her lungs and was crying hysterically as she clung to her parents desperately. Apparently his work of art has been discovered. Hachi grinned, lines defining his cheekbones. He relished the look of the little toddler for a while longer before he continued his stride back home.

Home. Such a foreign word to the tongue. It was bitter; yet held a certain sweetness to it. Except he didn't have a place to call home. Only an empty space with a cute little animal waiting for his return, and for her food to fill her little plate. That was. It wasn't anything special.

But it was all he had, and he was used to it by now.

Unbeknownst to anyone that knew the raven-haired adult, Hachi was a big control freak—everything had to be perfect, in order. Order, order, order. He lived for it. He was meticulous in everything he did, no distractions, no regrets, no emotions. That was his motto.

He made sure to clean any signs of blood from his knife. Always. He also made sure to feed a certain amount of food to his rat, Carmella. The little ball of fur was a greedy little bastard, he thought, but it was the only creature that took time out of their lives to visit the sadomasochist. Even if it was for a short while. He made sure to clean his place, leave his shoes at the entrance and slip his favorite, black-colored bunny slippers on and trudge to the kitchen.

He always made himself a light dinner. Never heavy. He needed to stay healthy, so much he knew. So he could keep living. Another thing he loathed. Life.

He made sure to wash the dishes and dry them, never leave them out in the sink. After the ridiculous process of peeling his clothes off and dump them in a hamper, to walk naked- apart from the slippers, to the bathroom and take a quick shower. Never a long one. Too much time to think.

He then would dry up with a white towel. Never any other color. White. He'd dump the towel where the rest of the clothes and, in all his naked glory, slump in his bed to sleep. He hated sleeping with any clothes on. He felt trapped. That was another one of his weaknesses, his damn claustrophobia.

No doors were to be locked in his apartment. The doors to his bedroom, closet, bathroom, and any other place, with the exception of the front door, were to be kept open. Always. Always, always, always. Otherwise, he'd just go into a mental breakdown and go inside in a matter of minutes. Just like before, when he woke up in that God-forsaken place.

He blamed the event as the creator of his obnoxious fear; waking up in a hospital room, strapped to a bed and locked tight.

Hachi groaned, long-forgotten memories suddenly invading and almost conquering his thoughts. Suddenly, the naked man couldn't take it anymore and fell into a fit of rage. He kicked on his bedroom, his screamed echoing through his almost empty bedroom. He flailed, he kicked, he yelled and he cried. Hard. Atrociously. The hot tears dribbled from his eyes until he was tired enough to fall asleep.

It was all just a natural routine. Be it healthy or not.

He was glad the thick curtains kept the sunlight from getting into his empty place. He enjoyed this; waking up to darkness. It was where he belonged, where he wanted to stay.

Hachi continued his daily routine, a heavy breakfast , quick shower and the flicking of channels on his plasma T.V, stopping when he found his favorite channel; the morning news. A smirk spread through his face when he read the words rolling in the screen.

'Another victim of the insidious killer "H" was found last night, laying in a pool of blood near the trash cans in an alleyway.'

Pleasure overwhelmed his senses yet again, and no sooner than later, the ringing of a phone echoed through the hallway. His cellphone was still on his nightstand. He never took it with him, he always left it here. No matter.

With lazy, languid steps, the hit man flicked his grey, rectangular shaped phone open and pressed it lightly against his ears. It was the usual, a congratulations from his boss in another job well done, and the early notice of a new job for him, at the same hour, that same day.

But after a short moment, the satisfied voice Hachi was used to hearing from the other line was suddenly a loud, dander growl, mixed with annoyance. Hachi was confused. Never since he started in this business eight years ago had he ever heard such a reaction from his boss at a marvelously well-done job of his. He was used to the happy tone, the amusement. As he was about to question his boss, vermillion-hues glued themselves to the screen of his television, and they widened in a mix of fear and apprehension.

He listened attentively to the reporter that graciously spoke into a puffy microphone, as she gestured for the camera man to follow her.

"We've received a report that there is a witness in this case!"

Suddenly, the camera was pointing towards a tall, blond figure with a blank stare in his eyes. The man seemed like he was at the brink of tears. Bastard.

"Sir, can you tell us what you saw?" The insistent female reporter shoved the microphone to the other's face. Hachi really hated reporters for that reason, they knew nothing of personal space.

"There was blood…" The man's voice cracked. "And a man…" Suddenly, a police officer and what seemed to be a therapist or psychologist, he wasn't going to guess which, surrounded the nervous-looking man, shielding him from the swarm of other reporters that greedily surrounded them. Hachi couldn't take it anymore, and so he turned the screen off, his blood boiling.

He was about to say something until a raspy voice cut him off before he even started.

"What happened there, Roppi?" Hachi loathed the nickname. He'd prefer to be called by his full name, Hachi, or his pseudonym "Krysa"- meaning 'Rat' in Czech. His favorite language. And he liked how it sounded.

"A slip. It was going to happen sooner or later. Don't worry, I'll take care of it." Hachi lazily explained. The voice from the other line of the phone spoke again.

"You better." And before any other words could be exchanged, the sound of the call being ended resounded in the raven's ears.

He flicked his cellphone closed, gently tossing it to the couch.

Hachi stared at the television for a while longer, turning it back on to try and get a clue of who the witness is. Luckily for him, the people of Shibuya weren't smart enough to keep the name of the witnesses confidential, neither their whereabouts. Suddenly, the kanji popped in the screen.

"Tsukishima." He repeated the word in his head like a mantra. "Tsukishima."

Hachimenroppi's face twisted in a scowl. He read of his whereabouts as well.

"Witness Protection home." He repeated as well, eyes growing dark. "Therapy for trauma."

That was enough for the sick smile to reappear in his face. "Apparently it'll take you a while to talk about what you saw, huh Tsukishima?" He chuckled, talking to himself, and the sneaking rat that watched from the window sill. "Just enough time."

Roppi hummed as he choose a different attire for the day. He proceded to call his most hated human of all, the person who claimed to be his equal, and the one who claimed to be inhuman himself.

"Orihara." He muttered into the phone as he slipped a formal looking jacket on his figure. The voice at the other end was cheery, disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

"Roppi-chan!" Said man groaned. "What a pleasant surprise, though you caught me at a bad ti-" The sound of a large, metal object hitting against the concrete, followed by a loud growl cut the other off. Hachi didn't even have to guess. "Shizu-chan, control yourself. Don't you know it's impolite to throw stuff at people who was trying to talk on the phone?" Izaya whined, and Hachi could practically feel the smirk in those words.

The rest of the conversation was all screams and crashes. Hachi knew it's take a while, so he just left the phone on the table, speakers on, and continued to properly dress himself. It wasn't until he heard the loud, raspy breath on the phone that he turned the speakers off and pressed the tip to his ear.

"Done?" He asked.

"No, just hiding." Izaya giggled. "So, tell me what do you need me for, Roppi-chan?"

"First, I need you to stop calling me that, and second." Hachi adjusted a watched that was wrapped around his wrist, frowning as he didn't understand the function and couldn't read the time. "I need you to make some paper work. Surely you know what kind of documents I'm talking about."

There was a pause, and Hachi could swear it was intentional.

"Psychologist. A permission is my guess, now is it?" Izaya cooed.

"Yes, can you have everything ready for the next hour?"

"Oh, that's a tough one. I can try." He teased.

"Orihara." Hachi tried sounding threatening.

"Yeah yeah, I'll have them ready, your Highness." A giggle. "Just give me a bit more than that, buh-bye!"

And with that, the conversation ended.

Hachi really hated to be in debt to that informant, but there was no way out now. He sighed. He refused to let it end now; he was not going to allow some low human take away his pride and joy and crash them against a train of life in a cell.

"Tsukishima." Hachi hummed, making his way out of his apartment, and the building. "Tsukishima." He sang now.

"Hachimenroppi." Tsuki mumbled, looking around the enclosed place.

He was waiting.


End file.
